Here is the long-bided hour: the labor of years is accomplished. Why should this sadness unplumbed secretly weigh on my heart? Is it, my work being done, I stand like a laborer, useless, One who has taken his pay, alien to unwonted tasks? Is it the work I regret, the silent companion of midnight, Friend of the golden-haired Dawn, friend of the gods of the hearth? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MAN CHILD IS BORN (1839) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE CUMBERLAND [MARCH 8, 1862] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE PHILOSOPHER by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY A SPINNING SONG by JOHN FRANCIS O'DONNELL THE TWO TREES by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS FRAGMENTS OF A POEM ON THE EXCELLENCE OF CHRISTIANITY by JAMES HAY BEATTIE THE SONG OF WILLI by MATHILDE BLIND SUBJECT LOVE, FOR THE VASE AT BATHEASTON VILLA by JANE BOWDLER |